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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782153">sick of meaning, I just wanna hold you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted'>constanted</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fjorclay week 2020! [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, First Kiss, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gay Caduceus Clay, Kinda?, Lifespan Angst, M/M, Mythology - Freeform, Pining, Storytelling, The Time That Caduceus Got Crossed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:14:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,376</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23782153</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/constanted/pseuds/constanted</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“You like <i>love stories</i>, Caduceus?” Jester leans in conspiratorially.</p><p>“Every story’s a love story. And I love stories, so. I suppose that’s fair?”</p><p>“But, like, <i>love</i>-love stories.”</p><p>“I enjoy them, yes.”</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Caduceus Clay/Fjord, Erathis the Lawbearer/The Wildmother (Critical Role)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>fjorclay week 2020! [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704592</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>186</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>sick of meaning, I just wanna hold you</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>vaguely taking the fjorclay week "fairy tale" prompt to meditate on caduceus' canon love of stories and then my love of love stories and then also the idea of worshipping a literal holy lesbian.</p><p>i wrote parts of this during my poetry workshop zoom class today so it does get a little purple prosey but hey. that's me.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Caduceus knows love from early on, of course, knows the love he has for his family, for his goddess and vice versa. Knows the type of love his parents share (a story: a man exiled from his tribe for reasons not told to children and not asked about later, injured, stumbles into a graveyard, meets one of its keepers, and there is healing and love and an eventual decision to stay) and the type of love mourners have for their lost loved ones (a memory: “Fifty years,” says an elf, of her human wife, “We were married fifty years. Time is cruel, earth-child; you will lose those you love to it.” And  Caduceus looks at the ground, says, “I think I’ll make you some tea,” and he has Calliope bring it out for her.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More than anything, maybe, he knows the kind of love in myths: between goddesses, passionate, striking balance (a moment of terror: blushing as he explains this to Fjord, talking about weeds overtaking fences with unbearable, bright stars in his eyes as Fjord nods all polite. He notices that he’s blushing and tries to magically will his body into some unfevered state, which only makes things worse, and on some awful impulse he says, “I’d love something like that, someday. To make the world more beautiful with someone.” And Fjord smiles, because he’s unbearably kind. Caduceus would compare the feeling to being stabbed if he didn’t know what being stabbed feels like, as his friend speaks with that too-silver tongue, says:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make the world more beautiful already, s’not fair to yourself or the people you help to imply you’re not doing it now.”)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beau tells him, once, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I follow Melora</span>
  </em>
  <span> means a woman wants to have sex with the woman she’s talking to in certain parts of the Empire. He tells Fjord as much, and Fjord laughs, “How is this related to you making fun of my magic?” And Caduceus, drunkenly, says something in Elvish he hopes no one else around him understands, and Yasha’s hand is still on his back like a brace or the trunk of a tree. Then he says, in Common, “I think it’s funny. Because I’m--I’m the opposite,” and he peeks up, makes eye contact with Fjord, because he’s feeling particularly bold and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>hates alcohol because it makes him do things like this, like staring into Fjord’s eyes, and now he’s too anxious to talk. So he stops the eye contact. Yasha says, “I’m taking this one to bed, I think.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I wasn’t making fun of your magic,” he complains, as Yasha scoops him up--she’s so strong and nice. “Your magic is really nice and I love it a lot, and you’re so cool. Love you. Good-night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(a realization: sitting in the crow’s nest of the</span>
  <em>
    <span> Ball-Eate</span>
  </em>
  <span>r, taking a bite of fruit, and a thought comes to mind that feels like red rope pulling him out of a simpler life, an idea that seems wrong and write and, well--</span>
</p><p>
  <span>love strikes balance, does it not? And they are so different, the two of them, but, well, later he’ll decide that no, they aren’t. And even later, he’ll decide that maybe this fruit makes him fixate on feelings he would otherwise bury as corpsefeed.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There is a story about Melora and Erathis, where Erathis feeds Her Lover fruit grown by Her farmers. And there is love inherent to feeding someone, to preparing food by hand. Caduceus has been sure of this since childhood, when he insisted on cooking big meals the nights people returned from journeys. He was mostly-sure of it when he was alone, trying to ration out food for winters when he is too-nervous to go to town. He is sure of this now, baking ocean cakes, making tea out of enemies, cutting off crusts. Cutting off more crusts. Cutting off crusts with his eyes closed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>(a conversation: “It makes the bread healthier, and the nut bread in Rosohna is actually really interesting,” versus, “Yes, but it adds a distraction! Keeps me away from the main event, which is, honestly, however you make </span>
  <em>
    <span>moss</span>
  </em>
  <span> taste delicious.”)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What sort of stories do you like, Caduceus?” Jester asks, when they are painting each others’ nails green below deck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All sorts of stories. I like ghost stories, of course. And… well, I like--I like the stories about Melora and Erathis that were told to me--they’re very romantic--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester tilts her head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Um. The WIldmother and the Lawbearer, the goddess of civilization, they’re… um. They have this very beautiful, chaotic love, and it’s very focused on, like--devotion to each others’ domains and giving gifts and just--taking care of the world. Keeping it in balance.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like </span>
  <em>
    <span>love stories</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Caduceus?” Jester leans in conspiratorially.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every story’s a love story. And I love stories, so. I suppose that’s fair?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>-love stories.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I enjoy them, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jester smiles. (an admission: “I didn’t want to upset you. I don’t know why I--” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would it </span>
  <em>
    <span>upset </span>
  </em>
  <span>me? You two are, like, real actual soulmates! Your names match! You’re--you know, you’re like Melora and the Law Lady!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckles, “I’m not sure I’d go that far, there’s--we’re not so much opposing forces who create balance as we are, um. Good friends. But. Well. I know that… when we first met, you had feelings for him. Which I know are--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Way </span>
  </em>
  <span>past gone. I was like, thinking that everything was like my books for me, and it’s kind of not? And I guess it’s the same for you, sorry for--you know, projecting. But! You know, it’s still very cute, and very sweet, and Fjord likes people who are, like… chill. And I’m not chill--I don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>like </span>
  </em>
  <span>being chill. But you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>chill, and--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you?”)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the beach, as chaos is slowly being planted around them, Fjord strikes up a conversation. “Do you ever think about how you’re--well. I don’t--I wouldn’t have this conversation with anyone else, of course, I just--know you--you </span>
  <em>
    <span>probably </span>
  </em>
  <span>won’t feel weird about it--just--shut me up--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the question, Fjord?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re going to outlive us, probably. All of us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And his throat feels funny, “Well. You could be half-elven. Or gnomish, or dwarven.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A snort. “My beard would protest that last one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. Elven and gnomish, still,” and he sighs, and Fjord makes some protest about his height, but Caduceus rolls his eyes and continues, “I--I don’t know, really. It’s… acceptable, for me. I’d be honored to bury you all, but. I’ve never been as close with people as I’ve been with you all, outside of my family, and, well--I’ve mourned my family. Poorly. Painfully. So… I--I accept it. I don’t think about it. I think Caleb would grow catnip on his corpse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always--jarring to hear that sort of sentence. I--it’s endearing, now, but. Jarring. Er. Yes. Well. I promise that I will at least hope that I am half-elven, so that you don’t have to be alone again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(a tear: it leaks out despite all resistance, falls through the crinkle of a smile, because that last clause was maybe the nicest thing Caduceus didn’t know he wanted someone to say. Rather, that he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to want people to say.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve not seen you cry before,” Fjord says, plainly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Caduceus shakes his head. “Oh, you have. I was just clever. Did it while it was raining.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Oh, wow. Er. Just… I worry. Sort of the existential fears that pop up when you die.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t be alone,” Caduceus says, “If you don’t live that long. I’ll have--I’ll have stories. And flowers. And faith that--when the Raven Queen comes to take me, I’ll--I’ll find you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(an ending: a hand touches another hand, and eyes meet, and the breeze picks up, tossing around flower petals in some sort of too-flamboyant encouraging gesture, and a, whispered, "Well. Might as well spend our time that's not just ghosts and stories doing what we'd like, yeah?" and the solidity of tusks pressed against lips and sunwarmth in the chest and a momentary absence of fear for the first time in a decade.)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><b>CADUCEUS</b>: [tries to seem sage and refined and like he's not totally in love, fails terribly]<br/><b>FJORD</b>: [is going full heart-eyes at this weird bitch]<br/><b>MELORA</b>: do you guys need anything? some snacks? a condom?</p><p>please kudo &amp; comment! as a note, i won't have a fc week fic for tomorrow, as i'm working on a broader m9 class swap piece that i want to spend a proper amount of time on</p></blockquote></div></div>
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